Won't Happen Again
by hurleycat
Summary: Phil left, but it was inevitable that he'd be back. (sequel to It Happened, What Happened, and Sh-t Happens. Phan, domestic violence, etc…)


Title: Won't Happen Again

Summary: Phil left, but it was inevitable that he'd be back. (sequel to It Happened, What Happened, and Sh-t Happens. Phan, violence, etc…)

Word Count: 2,879

Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, am not allowed to own humans.

Author's Note: I said I wouldn't write another part to this. _I LIED_.

.~.

Phil sat on a bench outside his apartment building, clutching his duffel bag to his side. He shakily pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Andrew. It rang twice before Andrew's voice said, "Hey! What's up?"

"Hey," Phil said shyly. He started to play with the zipper on his bag. "I know we weren't supposed to hang out until later, but I was wondering if we could chill... like right now." He hated how desperate he sounded.

Andrew sighed. "Man, I wish I could, but I've got Angela right now." Angela was his daughter, who he primarily took care of during the day while his wife was working as a nurse.

"Oh," Phil said, trying not to sound upset. Where could he go now? He couldn't just wait here until Andrew was ready to go. If Phil was here that long, he'd lose his resolve and go back inside to Dan.

Andrew was silent for a moment. He said, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Phil lied. His voice was getting high like it always did when he wasn't telling the truth.

Andrew was silent again for a few moments. He eventually took a deep breath and said, "How about I load Angela into the car and come get you, and you could come around and watch a movie or something while I try to get Angela back to sleep."

Phil knew that Andrew was only agreeing because he could hear how desperate and alone Phil was in his voice, but he couldn't bring himself to care about that. Andrew was coming to get him, and that was all that mattered. He had a lifeline to cling to.

It was strange. In moments like these, he used to call Dan for someone to run to, but Dan was the person he was running from. When did everything go bad? When did Phil lose not alone his boyfriend but also his best friend?

Phil clutched his bag a little harder. He hadn't put on a jacket before running out and it was starting to get cold. He opened his bag and rummaged around, trying to find a jacket. He found one and, pulling it out, sadly realized that it was actually Dan's and he'd accidentally taken it. Phil pulled it on anyway and tried not to tear up at the lingering smell of Dan.

Andrew's car pulled up to the curb and Phil stood immediately. He zipped his bag back up before stumbling over to the passenger side. As he clambered in, he said, "Thanks so much for-"

"What the fuck is that?" Andrew interrupted him. He had his hand positioned to put the car back in drive but he'd paused before he could.

Phil clicked his seatbelt into place. "What's what?" he asked.

Andrew leaned over and put his short fingers on the right side of Phil's face.

It took everything Phil had not to flinch away-not only because it was instinct now, but also because it hurt to be touched there. He'd almost forgotten Dan punched him; the bloody head kind of overshadowed that. Now that he thought about it, his stomach really hurt too. It seemed that the adrenaline was disappearing and his aches were starting to appear.

"Oh-that's nothing. I fell and hit my face on the counter," Phil lied.

His original plan had been to tell Andrew the truth, but Phil found he couldn't do it now that the time had come to say it. He only had to say three simple words: "Dan hit me." None of them were more than three letters; they shouldn't be that hard to say, but he just couldn't do it.

Phil was glad the blood in his hair was on the other side of his head so he had time to think of an excuse before Andrew saw. He knew he should probably say something, but he didn't want to force Andrew to take him to A & E while he had Angela.

Andrew pulled his fingers away and gave Phil a doubtful look. "Whatever you say," he mumbled and pulled the car away from the curb. A few moments of silent driving passed before he asked, "Hit anything else when you fell? Anything I should worry about?"

"My... stomach."

Andrew turned on his blinker and didn't look away from the road as he flatly responded, "And how did you manage to hit your head and stomach in the same fall?"

"I guess I'm just talented?" Phil joked. He tried to smile, but it felt awkward so he just dropped it.

Andrew scoffed.

Phil felt a little queasy. He figured it was from the nerves of trying to lie to Andrew, so he ignored it. As they rode on, it started to get worse, but he continued to fight it down so he wouldn't bother Andrew more than he already had.

"Okay," Andrew said after a long time, "now are you going to tell me what actually happened?"

Phil gulped and stared out his window so he wouldn't have to meet Andrew's eyes. "I already did," he squeaked.

"Phil." Andrew's voice had a warning tone.

Another wage of nausea hit Phil, and this was the worst. "Pull over," he said suddenly.

Andrew slammed his hand on the steering wheel. "I'm not letting you out of the car until you tell me the truth, Phil."

"I'm going to puke," Phil admitted. "You really need to pull over."

Andrew looked startled, but he turned into the first pullout, parking the car just in time for Phil to stumble to the nearest plant bed. Falling to his knees, Phil emptied his stomach.

When he didn't have anything in his stomach left to throw up, Phil forced himself to say, "Sorry."

Andrew had walked over unnoticed while Phil was puking. He put his hand on his friend's back and softly said, "It's fine. You done?"

Before Phil could respond, a baby started crying nearby. Was that Angela? Had she been in the car the entire time? Phil tried to think back but realized that he'd been too frantic and jumpy to notice much of anything.

"Crap," Andrew said, and his hand disappeared from Phil's back. "I didn't bring any formula. You think you can get back into the car fine?"

Phil nodded and stumbled up to his feet. He turned to walk back to the car, but Andrew grabbed his arm to stop him. "Oh my God, Phil," he gasped. "What happened to your head?"

Crap. Crap. Crap. Phil opened his mouth and closed it, trying to think of something. He hated how strained his voice sounded when he said, "I hit it on the tile when I fell."

Andrew looked doubtful, but he didn't say anything. He moved to get a closer look. "Fuck, Phil, this looks bad. Get back in the car. I'll take you to A & E."

Phil suddenly felt guilty. "But you've got Angela with you," he said. "How about we just wait for Jesse to come home and she can take a look."

Jesse, Andrew's wife, was a nurse, so the idea seemed perfectly rational to Phil. Andrew though looked skeptical for a few moments before he sighed, giving in. "Fine. Let's just get you back to my place."

.~.

Andrew was angry. He knew that Phil was lying to him—it was pretty damn obvious—but he was starting to think that it was because Phil was _scared_ to tell him the truth. And anybody that made Phil scared was on Andrew's list of people who needed a good beating.

He'd never liked that guy Phil was dating to begin with. He was a bit obnoxious, especially around Phil, and sometimes Andrew wondered why Phil was dating someone so unlike himself. And now he had a hunch that Dane—was that even his name?—had been the one to give Phil those injuries.

When Jesse looked at Phil's head, she'd told him that he would probably be fine. She said that, since he hadn't had any symptoms worse than the nausea, he would have to sleep it off for the next few days, but there wouldn't be any other problems.

"I'll take you home so you can rest," Andrew said to Phil, grabbing his keys. He knew that Phil's reaction to that suggestion would tell him if his hunch had been correct or not

Phil shifted from foot to foot awkwardly, clutching at his duffel bag. He lifted it a little, so Andrew would notice it, and said, "Actually, are there any hotels around here?"

Andrew raised an eyebrow. Here was his chance to force it out of Phil. "I thought you were living with that Dane guy," he said, sounding less quizzical and more with an I-knew-it tone. Well, it was too late to take that back.

"Dan, actually," Phil responded nervously. "But we had a bit of a fight so—"

Andrew interrupted him and bluntly said, "You had a bit of a fight and he gave you a mild concussion."

Phil sighed. He knew there was no denying it. He hadn't exactly been that good at covering it up; he could've at least cleaned the blood from his hair before calling Andrew.

"He's not normally like this," Phil defended Dan weakly. He wouldn't meet Andrew's eyes. "Something like"-he motioned to his head-"has never happened before."

Andrew scoffed. As much as he wanted it to be true, he had a hard time believing that Dan had never hurt Phil before. He knew that Phil and Dan had broken up for a few months already, and he remembered the nasty bruise that Phil had had for a while before that. Andrew had had his suspicions, but he was too nervous about being wrong to ever say anything.

"Stop lying to me," Andrew said. He hated how weak it had sounded, but he'd allowed his sorrow for his best friend's suffering to seep into his words.

Phil stared at him for a moment before he suddenly dropped his bag and threw his arms around Andrew. Andrew laced his arms around Phil's back and squeezed him. It took him a second to realize that Phil was shaking.

Phil, who was a lot taller than Andrew, set his chin on the side of Andrew's head. He looked down as he whispered, "I'm sorry."

Andrew answered, "You don't have to be."

After a long moment, Phil pulled away. He wiped his eyes—(had he been crying? Andrew hadn't noticed)—and picked up his bag again. "Well," he said, coughing to clear his throat, "I guess we should go find me a hotel then."

Andrew sighed. "Don't be ridiculous." He took Phil's bag from him and started walking toward the living room. "I'll pull out the couch and you can sleep here."

Phil shifted awkwardly. "No, really, it's fine," he tried to protest.

"Oh come off it," Andrew said. He dropped Phil's bag on the couch and started walking toward the linen closet. "I'd like it if you stayed. Besides, _someone_ needs to watch you and make sure your concussion's not worse than we thought."

A few seconds passed before Phil's resolve wavered and he let his shoulders sink a lot. "Thank you," he breathed.

.~.

Phil woke up sobbing. He couldn't remember what he'd been dreaming about or why he'd been crying so hard, but he did feel a deep sadness settled in the pits of his stomach.

Feeling springs of the futon poke into his back, Phil decided he needed to get up and move around before he started crying again. He tossed aside the sheets Andrew had put on for him and started padding toward the kitchen. Maybe some tea would calm him down.

As he started searching around for tea bags, he wondered if he should've come here. Andrew had been his first thought of course, but he knew that Andrew would now do anything to keep Phil from going back to Dan, and Phil wasn't sure if he wanted that. What if he started to miss Dan again? He was already feeling the urge to go back.

He located the tea bags and checked to see if the kettle was full. It was, so he turned on the stove and turned to look for their sugar.

Then it hit: he _shouldn't_ go back to Dan. If he was being honest with himself, Dan was dangerous, no matter how much Phil loved him. And going back would just be _stupid_.

But, then again, hadn't staying this long been stupid enough? He shouldn't have gone back the first time, but he did and now he had a fucking _concussion_. God—he was such an idiot!

Tears pricked at Phil's eyes as he thought about it. It was his fault all of this had happened. He'd gone back to Dan and allowed it to happen again. And he was the one pissing Dan off enough to make him hit Phil to begin with.

Phil rubbed his eyes to clear away the tears.

"Midnight snack?" a voice said from behind him.

He spun around quickly, a gasp catching in his throat. He felt his eyes get too wide as he looked around for the sourced of the voice.

Jesse was standing by the doorway, wearing a tank top and lounge pants. She smiled at him as he walked farther into the kitchen. She leaned against one of the counters. "You got enough water boiling for two cups?"

Phil nodded slowly, feeling his face go red at how frightened he'd been by Jesse's voice. "I've got plenty," he forced himself to say.

She smiled again and lifted herself up so she was sitting on the counter. Crossing her legs underneath her, she asked, "So how are you holding up, Phil? Your head still hurt?"

Phil shrugged. He went over to the fridge to grab their pitcher of milk. "Not as badly," he said quietly. "And I haven't needed to throw up any more so…"

Jesse nodded and said, "That's good. What about everything else?"

Gulping, he answered, "My stomach hurts pretty bad and my face is sore, but that usually goes away pretty quickly."

Phil couldn't be sure why, but Jesse suddenly looked very sad. She played with the edges of her lounge pants, unwilling to meet Phil's eyes. It took him a second, but Phil realized the connotation his words had.

"Not that I would know," he rushed to say. "I mean… Well. It's not like it happens a lot so I'm just guessing about how long it'll take, ya know."

Jesse nodded. She looked doubtful and she seemed to be forcing her small smile. "Phil?" she said softly. "You know Andrew and I care about you a lot, right?"

Nodding slowly, Phil said, "Of course. I care about you guys too."

"And we wouldn't ever want you to be hurting."

"I know."

"So just… know that we want you to be happy, okay?"

"Okay."

.~.

_Stupid_.

The next morning, Phil stood with his first raised to knock on the door. He'd left his key when he ran off so he'd have to depend on Dan to open the door.

_Idiot_.

He gulped and his stomach flipped. He shouldn't be doing this. _He should not be doing this_. But he missed Dan so much. He missed Dan to the point that his throat hurt and his legs shook whenever Phil thought about him.

_Messed up._

Phil knocked.

The door opened almost immediately and Dan stood in the doorway, looking sad and defeated. It seemed to take him a few seconds to realize that Phil was standing before him, but when he did, he jerked forward to embrace him.

Phil took a step back without thinking. When he realized what he'd done, he cleared his throat and hugged Dan.

"I told you I'd come back," Phil said into Dan's shoulder. He chuckled at little at that, though he wasn't sure why.

Dan hugged him a little tighter. "Yeah, ya did," he agreed. Then he let out a long breath and said, "I swear to you, I'll get better. It won't happen again."

Phil pulled away. He doubted Dan would live up to that, but it was a nice hope to cling to. He started walking into their flat. "Thank you," he said because he couldn't think of any other response.

"Of course." Dan followed him in and closed the door. There was a big, goofy grin spread across his face and he couldn't take his eyes away from Phil. "Can I make you some tea? I cleaned up the living room this morning; I know you hate when the DVDs are out of order."

Phil felt like he should've been made happy by the effort Dan was putting into making him happy, but mostly he was just numb. He glanced over to see that the living room was indeed much cleaner than it had been yesterday afternoon.

Dan trailed behind Phil down the hallway. He had continued to ramble and he eventually stopped at, "Listen. I will do absolutely anything to keep from hurting you. It won't happen again."

"I'm sure it won't." Phil hated how much that felt like a lie.


End file.
